One
by Remus-Chocolade
Summary: They have just lost a son, a brother, a twin. Now life have to go on. For George every day, week, month and year is a struggle and he definitely doesn't want to live. Oneshots, kinda.
1. One day

**AN: Somehow Sarah Brightman's 'Deliver me' got in a loop on iTunes and this made it's way out. I will follow up with more, but I can't promise when...  
Kinda... Emotional, but how could it not be?**

One day

The sun. It lighted the room through the curtains. How could it still shine? Why did it still shine? The world should be a big, dark hole. Instead the hole was inside him. Consuming every emotion, making him numb.

Turning to lay on his back he glanced at the door. Out there people still lived. Breathed. Worried about nonsense like if the looked fat, what the parents of their boyfriends really thought of them.

The ceiling. Above was the sky. Heaven. A fantasy-place his twin may be now.

The door opened and someone walked in. Opened the curtains and window to let the May-weather in.

"You need to eat or at least drink something. And take a shower," Charlie told him. What's the point? Still he sat up. "Come, Fleur's actually a decent cook."

They walked down the stair and he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror on the opposite wall. Knowing it was a stupid thing to do, he went closer and took it in, every detail.

His hair was tousled after the time in bed, but the dirt and dust was still evident. His lower lip had a crack and a thin stream of dried blood went down onto his chin. He didn't remember how that had happened. He had bags under his bloodshot eyes, eyes that was still seeing, watching the face so alike his brother's.

"Hi, good to see you up." She went over and gave him a hug. He couldn't muster the strength to return it, or appreciate it.

"Slept well?" Bill asked from the table as they got into the kitchen.

"No, not at all," he answered almost inaudible.

He could feel their eyes on him as he stood by the counter, not wanting to sit down, because then he had to eat. Food would only make him gain strength to cry. He wasn't going to cry, at least not in front of his brothers and sister-in-law.

"Do you want eggs?" Fleur asked, filling him with a cold anger, he had justified not eating for himself a second ago. He shook his head and muttered something about taking a bath, marching up the stairs again. "'E do not 'ave it easy now. I 'ope 'e do not 'urt 'imself." She looked at the guys and they took the hint.

"We have to have a talk with him, but just now he have to... None of us has had time to really take it in," Bill said and looked down at his hands. How had he let this happen, he was supposed to look after them, protect them.

Fleur hated seeing them in pain, but how was she supposed to fix it? All she could do now was to hold their hands. Charlie supported his head with one fist dug into his hair, deep in thought, but still gave a slight smile at the small gesture. Only his wife would ever notice all the emotions in Bill's minuscule nod.

After a while she had to got up to turn off the stove and put the eggs back in the refrigerator, breakfast could wait. Bill also got up and she followed him with the eyes. "Coffee's going straight through me," he said as he went up the stairs.

The bathroom door wasn't locked, no surprise there. "Getting any cleaner?" he asked the curtain in front of the bathtub. The joke was useless, stupid and meaningless, he knew that, still he waited for an answer.

It didn't come and he yanked back the curtain, revealing George with his head under water and eyes closed.

His stomach became an icy knot as he grabbed hold under the shoulders and dragged the body of his younger brother up from the water, hoping it wasn't too late. Taking hold under his back he lifted the limp mass out off the tub and laid him on the floor, getting ready for mouth-to-mouth. George coughed once. Then some more.

"Idiot!" Bill told him and stood up, his shirt drenched and eyes livid with anger. "Do you ever think about anyone beside yourself? Isn't it enough to loose one of you?" George wanted to answer him, to say that he used to care about another person, a person that was no more. But he couldn't, he just laid there, sprawled on the floor.

Bill left and he got back in the tub on shaking legs. Stupid of him to think it would go unnoticed here in his brother's house. The only place worse would be his mother and father' would be better to do it in the shop.

_One birth, one burial._

Bill came back, carrying some clothes. George just kept gazing into the wall and, to his great disappointment, he started to worry about how his mother would handle another dead son.

The oldest buttoned down his wet shirt, took it off and threw it on the floor. Fleur was very right and they had to keep close eyes on him. Sitting down on the toilet-lid and buttoning up the dry shirt he looked at the broken boy sitting in the bathtub, slightly leaned forward. "When you're done it's clean clothes for you here." No response.

The silence stretched on and the water became cooler. "Are you going to sit there 'til I get up?" Having your older brother stare at your naked torso gets annoying no matter what the situation is.

"Well, I have to, seeing as you try to commit suicide if we leave you alone." The words was spoken lightly, but hit hard.

"Gimme a towel," he sighed and stood up, trying not to trip. That would be ironic, falling now and breaking his neck.

When he was dried up he started dressing. The jeans was too long and the t-shirt tight, but who cares? Nothing really matters.

Descending the stairs they smelled bacon. It turned out Charlie had gotten hungry after all. Still refusing nutrition, George took his place standing by the counter. They tried to get him to at least take a glass of juice. He just shook his head.

Fred used to love bacon, preferably with strawberry jam. He had never understood why, and stuck to his mint jam. One time Angelina had called them both nuts, whereas they had discovered that peanuts should be kept away from them all.

A tear trickled down his cheek and he hated how cliché it was. Another one refreshed the pat. He tried to blink several times, hoping the others hadn't seen it. They had.

Charlie got up and put his strong arms around him. Now it was lost, he started sobbing on his shoulder, saying to himself that he wasn't a seven-year old boy that had fallen off the broom. It didn't work since he would rather be a seven-year-old with a bloody knee than a twenty-year-old without a twin.

He tried pushing his face far enough into the curve beside the neck to disappear, his sobs growing louder. Bill came and joined the hug from behind. "Shh, shh." The whisper was meant to be soothing, still all that was real to George was the sound and touch of the three beating hearts and the pain for the one that had stopped.

Breathing uneven, his legs began to give in under him and they slowly sank down, sitting so close together it made it difficult to breath. Still the physical touch was essential.

Watching the three brothers, all with tear-wet faces and clinging onto each other made Fleur's heart break a little, but it was a relief to know they had each other.

George tried to steady his breath a bit, took a good hold of the back of Charlie's shirt to make it clear he wasn't to leave and focused on the beating of the hearts again.

He could feel Bill's on his back, powerful and steady. Charlie's was a bit faster, but just as firm. His own was rapid, sometimes jumping over a contraction, painful. And alone. Unaccompanied. Partner-less.

Someone arrived by floo and they could hear Fleur going to check who it was. "Go burn in Hell," a tired female voice told her before it sounded as someone fell down on the couch.

George hadn't noticed his hold had loosened before Charlie made to get up. "You okay?" The older asked and received a small nod. Bill didn't dare do anything but keep holding around his younger brother, face hidden in the back of his shoulder. "Kevin, you look awful," they could hear Charlie say from the sitting room.

"I've spend all night stitching up Katie Bell and Lav-Lav Brown. And draggin' dead bodies around today." Her voice shook a little at the last part and George wondered where Fred's corpse was. The thought made his insides turn to ice and fresh tears appeared.

Feeling small he turned slowly to face Bill. He was crying too. They resumed the hug, arms gripping on for support, sitting on their knees, one between the other's thighs to get as close as possible.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... It's my duty as a big brother to watch out for you," Bill said into his one ear, voice trembling. George knew he should say something back, but neither his voice nor lips functioned.

Beside, what should he say? Unless it had been Bill and not Fred standing in that exact spot... He tried to visualise the funeral; Fleur all dressed in black, their mother wailing over the death of her oldest son, their father trying to keep it together but failing, Ginny crying her eyes out on Harry, he and Fred sending up fireworks as a last 'thank you for keeping us alive'.

Or what is it had been Charlie; Bill and Fleur dressed in matching black, their parents holding hands and crying in silence, Ron squeezing Hermione's hand red and blue to hold the tears back, many of the dragon-tamers from Romania saying their good-byes while he and Fred let go of a dozen red fire-balls.

Or Percy, that would have been justice; Some of the few surviving ministry-people giving boring speeches, their mother stone-faced and cold while their father gave her a worried look, Ginny putting on a stubborn face, he and Fred hiding Nose-bleed Nugats in the food at the gathering afterwards.

Or Ron, the most likely; Hermione and Harry sitting next to each other, she gazing on the casket while tears run freely down her face, their mother sobbing into Percy's shoulder while their father held a speech, followed by Harry saying he could never have made it as far without his best friend, in the end a spectacular and sad display of fireworks by him and Fred.

Or the youngest of them all, Ginny; Harry would be broken beyond repair, all her brothers would go into shock, their parents would blame themselves for not protecting their baby girl.

Or what if he himself had just stood six feet to the left; Fred would be the one sitting here now, crying his eyes out. But he hadn't and the wall had collapsed, a big block of stone had hit his twin's head, instantly breaking the neck, stopping the heart. No pain.

A fresh load of tear made their way out trough his red-rimmed eyes. How was he supposed to live on? He couldn't, and reality would be his parents crying over two dead sons, Ginny sobbing in Harry's arms, Ron finally succumbing but still gripping Hermoine's hand like a lifeline, no one sending up fireworks.

They were already hurting so much and he was going to add to the pain he was reminded as Bill moved his head, brushing their cheeks together.

"I have to let you go now, or we'll be sitting in a puddle of pee." His arms relaxed, trying to let go of his younger brother, wanting to stay. George sniffed and sat up properly, looking into the worried and scarred face of his brother.

"Then you'll better go," he said and they both stood up, one ran to the bathroom and one walked slowly out in the sitting room.

One of the sofas were occupied by Charlie and a woman he assumed was Kevin, it wasn't easy to recognise her with long brownish hair instead of the usual shorter blue. On the other one Fleur sat, watching the couple laying in each other arms. He took the seat beside her and she touched his thigh, wanting to do something more but being afraid of him getting upset.

The small act of affection made him think of what he could have had. What his siblings had. Bill had Fleur, supporting him through fire and water. Charlie had Kevin, giving him someone to talk to. Percy may get back with Penelope, giving him someone to make up his wrongs with. Ron had Hermione, being an inspiration in bad times. Ginny had Harry, making her strong to help others.

Fred had been his only support, the only one he could talk to, the only that make him hit the decision of leaving school, the only one that inspired him to drive Umbridge mad, the only one that made all cruel words from Slytherins and other envious students bounce off.

They had spend nine months in the womb together, twenty years as pranksters together and was going to spend the eternity buried next to each other. One day apart was already too much.

As Fleur carefully rubbed his leg he came to a realisation. _Shit, I'm going to die a virgin._

**AN: Yeah, I had to finish it with a bit of humour. Sorry if it sounds a bit as Wesleycest some places, that wasn't the intention.  
Review? I would appreciate it.**


	2. One week

**AN: I was slightly drunk when I wrote this, but it turned out pretty good so I'm posting it.**

One week

He looked at the slice of bread. Salami. No butter. Who would want to eat at an event like this, anyway? Across the table a heavily bandaged Katie looked at him, understanding how he felt about it.

People from all over had come, to them it was just another funeral in a never-ending line. He saw a journalist from The Prophet talking to some balding warlock. One of Fleur cousins had taken the time to come, now she was talking to Lee. Bill was gesturing to a witch about their mother's age, probably trying to take his mind off it all.

It was too much, a crowd of faceless bodies, few of them caring. He stood up, leaving the poor food and walked up the stairs, pushing countless memories out of his mind. Once he had been happy to fight his way up, now he was glad no one was around.

The door of their old room stood ajar and he stopped for a moment. No, it wouldn't be any good. He continued into the bathroom, closed the door firmly and turned the key. Alone. He kicked off his right shoe and sat down on the toilet-lid before removing the sock too. He shook it and a small razor fell into his hand.

This was it. His heart pounded harder in his chest. Cold sweat erupted on his lip, forehead and knuckles. It may be the worst place ever, but the timing was almost poetical. A cold laugh escaped him and he put the blade to wrist. A small cut and his pain would go away.

Tiny pressure and a small drop of blood ran down, hitting his trousers and making the spot a bit denser black. Why should this be so hard?

He raised his hand to loosen his tie. He had always hated wearing them, but his mother had insisted on it today. He got up and looked in the mirror. His skin was extremely pale under the freckles and his eyes was more blood-shot than ever.

Sitting down again he tried thinking about why he was doing this, not how his parents, brothers and sister would react when they found him. It was already too late really, Fred laid six feet under in the family graveyard. Next to Gideon and Fabian, not him.

Applying more pressure to the blade he felt a cold satisfaction of the blood running down on the floor.

"_Alohomora._" It had been a whisper outside and the door opened, Angelina entered and closed it behind her. None of them said anything as she took in the razor, the blood and the tears he hadn't noticed on his cheeks.

"No, not another one," she said as she removed the cutter from his hand, dropped it in the sink and whispered a healing charm, making his wrist whole again.

"It's my life." His voice was in the emotionless, barely audible state it had been all week. She put her arms around his body and rocked slowly. Her sweet scent made him think of the greenhouses at Hogwarts. When times were easy. When they had been two.

"Yes, but we're concerned about you," she said into his red mop of hair. The tears had returned, not accompanied by sobs, just an empty feeling.

He knew it. Everyone's pitying looks, pats on the back, words of sympathy. Still they had no idea of how he was feeling.

"Are you going to make your family hurt even more? Make _me _hurt even more?" He knew it was true, but hearing it voiced out by her made it ten times more real. Pushing his face closer to her body he tried to imagine his life going on as an 'I' and not a 'we'. It wasn't possible, the mere idea went against the laws of nature.

"No," he said, not knowing if it was an answer to her question or a response to his thoughts. Maybe both, even though it would be going against himself.

She stroke his back and he let go, not wanting to feel. She sat down in front of him and looked into his eyes. "You should all get on with your lives, I can't live without him." His eyes was watery and she stroke a tear away with her thumb. "I'm not giving up on you. I'm sounding like a bad daytime soap here, but you have lots of things to live for. Like me." Tears was running down her own cheeks.

He tried to feel guilty, but she had that look usually telling him his opinion didn't matter. "The house is full of people caring enough to go to his funeral. To show you they cared about the both of you. To help you get through this. That we hurt too!" The last words was almost shouted at his face.

He looked down. Now he was feeling a bit guilty. He couldn't cause this pain to his mother and father. Or Bill and Fleur. Charlie. Ron and Hermione. Ginny and Harry. Angelina...

"I'm not going back down again before they leave." His voice was dead. Grey and cold. She gave a small nod. After sitting like that a couple of minutes she opened her mouth to say something but closed it again.

She tried again. "We can't sit here." She stifled a yawn and stood up. He was tired too after sleeping next to nothing the last week. She opened the door and took him by the hand. Where they should proceed after getting out in the narrow hall they didn't know.

He slowly walked into the room, door still ajar. She followed by his hand. The two beds was tidy and hadn't been slept in for months. He slowly started to remove his clothes, eyes burning and body aching.

When he opened his belt she started taking off her blazer, blouse following quickly, shoes, then pin-striped trousers and at last the black strapless bra.

He lifted up the sheets and sat down. They smelled of lavender and he remembered countless nights before, when Fred had told him the smell was soothing. Laying down he closed his eyes and felt the young woman crawling next to him, her body-heat leaving a trail on his shoulder as she spend a moment finding a comfortable place on the old mattress.

"I'll heal you," she said with her head resting on his breast, thankful she could hear his heartbeat. "Good luck," he joked, trying to keep the tears at bay long enough to fall asleep. They both relaxed while listening to the other's breathing, putting their worries away for a couple of hours to enjoy some much needed sleep.

--

She woke suddenly, feeling his arm going around her waist and his hand caressing one of her breasts. It was calming to lay close to him, feeling his heartbeat against her back.

Opening her eyes, she looked across the room and noticed the other woman. She was sitting on the edge of the other bed, someone laying behind her.

"Hi Angelina. We didn't want to run the chance that he may wake up before you. Beside, Molly kicked Arthur out of their bedroom so he's in Bill's old, Hermione's in Charlie's and Percy's back in his own." Kevin looked into her eyes before continuing. "It's good to sleep next to someone, right? Please take care of him, even though he may not want it. Someday he's going to thank you." Her voice was just a whisper, but Angelina nodded, agreeing.

The unnamed body snored and turned. Kevin stroke the cheek affectionately and Angelina understood it was Charlie. Of course. Hopefully she would one day have the kind of love they had.

"Go back to sleep, it's only half past five." The words were spoken so soft and caring she didn't bother to object, but closed her eyes again, George's hold tightening a notch.

**AN: Some slight possibility of romance being born here ;)**


	3. One month

**AN: I could be more pleased than I am with this, but I have to do it before moving on to the next, which will be one year... **

One month

He stood on the wooden chair, working on the knot. Here, in their flat, no one would interfere and he could finally get it over with. Reunite after thirty days in Hell.

A small pop was heard in the silence and Lee Jordan walked calmly over to him, a grocery bag in his hand.

"You aren't going to hang yourself in your Hogwarts ties?" He sounded disappointed at how unimaginative it was, not bothered by the suicide-part.

"Well, one isn't long enough," George answered dryly and tightened the knot, the loop would go over his head now. If Lee just left again it would be over in a matter of minutes.

"Come off of it! I though you were doing better now." He took up two bottles from the bag and opened them with his wand. "Have a beer and cool down. What would Angie think, that you don't care about her?"

George sighed heavy, jumped down on the floor and took the bottle. "Why are you here, anyway?" He thought no one knew he was here now.

"I got a tip. I was on my way to meet Adéle, you know, my quarter-veela girlfriend, when a small owl landed on my shoulder, carrying an unsigned note." The smugness in his voice when he mentioned the girl made George sick. Not only did he have to be told to visit his friend, he was more interested in the blond harlot.

"This tastes like warm _piss._" He flung the the drink in the wall, shattered glass flying around the small room, the liquid soaking the yellow wallpaper.

"Sorry, it's hot outside and I decided to walk..." The explanation got stuck in his throat as the taller man got closer, fury etched in his face.

"Don't you think I know it would hurt Angelina if I was gone? That Mum and Dad would be just as heartbroken as the first time? That Bill would blame himself for not looking out for me? That Ginny would wonder what happened to her big brother?" George had stepped back in the conversation, now pacing restlessly, trying to make up his mind.

"Then why don't you just... Not. You can have a long and happy life with Johnson, churn out a couple of kids, make big money on the shop." Calling her by her last name eased the prickling feeling, how often hadn't he asked her out, whereas she had rejected him politely every time. But that was in the past, a trivial game played by kids unaffected by war.

"No, I need to be there, help him." He stopped, eyes unfocused and his shoulders dropped down, making him look both younger and ancient at the same time.

"Help him? Not much you can do for him now," Lee commented, worrying about the other's sanity.

"In Nangijala there is. The life after this," he added to clarify it, but Lee still looked confused.

"That isn't... Who told you that?" If it was something he had cooked up himself he was in for a mighty let-down.

"Kevin." Closing his eyes, George could clearly see her with a book in one hand, gesturing with the other as she read out loud to them, he and Fred captivated by the amazing adventure.

"Then you should both be committed," Lee muttered under his breath, regretting it as he was pinned up against the wall. The lower arm of the redhead pressed against his throat, rage making his eyes large, snarling like a rabid wolf.

"Don't. Even. Joke." The harsh voice made Lee actually fear for his life. He had never doubted that the twins were capable of anything - even murder - and get away with it, but now the jest seemed stupid and immature.

"You're right, it was an idiotic thing to say." It sounded wheezy, but George let go, not stepping away.

"Maybe you should get going, Adéle'll get worried." It was spoken too casual, hiding the bitterness caused by the lack of trust everyone had in him. Then again, they were right in thinking that he hadn't given up on being with his twin again.

"Not unless you go with me." He was smart enough to know you don't leave your friend through nine years alone with an amateur gallow when he's feeling down.

George only did a grimace filled with loathing, flaring his teeth for a moment.

"Look, you're not going to swing today," he said with more confident than he felt, it was too easy to picture him there, feet dangling a bit above the floor. "So why don't you come and take your mind off it for a couple of hours?"

A wicked grin suddenly made it's way over George's face and he straightened up. "You suggested I should go with you, but what if _you _went with _me?_" His hand was around the neck of the other man. "I've always been stronger than you, don't bother to fight." It was true, the only one that had beaten him at arm wresting in school was Oliver Wood.

"No, think about what you're doing. This is absurd..." It was, they were supposed to be friends. The hold loosened a bit, but not fully.

"You can just leave, no harm done." He shook some of the hair back from his face and met the dark brown eyes. Why was it so hard to get a couple of minutes peace and quiet?

"If I'm going now, it's only to tell your mother." He knew he sounded like a twelve year old brat, but it was his last resort.

"Tattle-tale." The corner of his upper mouth twitched and he let go unwillingly only to punch his schoolmate out cold. The body glided down, the broad lips slightly parted.

George didn't waste a second and was soon up on the chair again, the noose around his neck and he got ready to kick out from underneath his feet. A matter of minutes.

The pop of the apparation was lost in Angelina's gasp as she took in the scene. "Have you lost you bloody, frickin' mind?!" With a wave of her wand the ties smouldered up to ashes. He just stood there, blinking dumbly at her sudden appearance. "If you have, I know an excellent mental hospital!" She was infuriated by his lack of empathy for the people who care about him.

"No, I've already been offered that." He sat down on the chair and put his face in his hands, all the energy drained from him again.

"What did you attack Lee for?" She wasn't blaming him and sat down in front of him, gently trying to remove his hands so she could see his face.

"No particular reason," he said, muffled by his hands. She let her hands fall still, only holding them to his wrists.

"I'm not buying that. It was a reason, tell me even if it's a silly one." She tried to peek in between his fingers, but it was no use.

"In the... Funeral, he met a girl, and they hooked up. That's what he did while I... You know." She understood, it may not be what really got him worked up, but it bothered him that his friend couldn't pay some respect to his brother.

"You both found comfort in another person that happen to be of the opposite sex," she whispered and he looked up at the change of tone. She kissed his cheek, carefully not to upset him.

"Yeah, that reminds me..." He was glad she was there for him, but it was more complicated than just a friend supporting another.

"Of what?" She tried a tender smile and looked into his eyes. There were something there, something more alarming than the fury and sadness she had seen before.

"We can't be together." He said it nonchalant and her eyes widened in surprise. They had never agreed on officially being a couple, but they hadn't hidden their feelings either.

"And why is that?" It was a clear edge to her voice. Did he think she would stop loving him because he decided that she should?

"Because Fred shagged you." It pained him to say the name, but he had to get over himself about that.

"Do you think that- It was just- Fuck you!" She was too angry and upset to tell him it had just been a mistake among two curious teenagers. She got up and over to Lee, mopping up some of the blood running from his temple with her sweater.

"We didn't have any secrets. He told me how you escape into an empty classroom during the Yule Ball and went on it like animals." It had been the only time he had wished he wasn't a twin, hearing the most sleazy details about their mutual friend's body. He interlaced his fingers and looked down bitterly.

"It was a mistake, all right? I've never regretted anything more!" Her head had snapped up from tending to Lee's cut. "When he asked me to the ball I was so taken by surprise I didn't know which one of you I was saying yes to. My expectation dropped a little when I found out it wasn't you, but the dancing was fun. I got a carried away and he talked me into the classroom, having things a bit more private, as he put it. We explored each other's bodies and before I knew it he was..." She swallowed hard at the memory of how exposed she felt when he had entered her.

"I've heard it once and have no desire to do it again." He furrowed his brow. It was wrong to be angry at the dead, it was all in the past.

"You haven't heard my version. I did it voluntary, don't think he raped me or anything like that, but I didn't know what to do later. At breakfast the next morning he acted as if nothing special happened and I felt used. I began fiddling with the thought of asking you out, see if I got some reaction then. But I chickened out." The tears wasn't suppose to be there. She stroke them hastily away and turned to look at him, sitting leaned forward in the chair.

"He... Didn't know what to do either. It was hid well, but... Guess he knew you had many other possibilities... And he wasn't the right one for you," he said slowly, struggling to find the right words. The anger was gone, pity replaced it. He realised Fred never had felt the intoxicating dizziness a crush brings with it, never longed after a girl, fight for a seat near her at lunch in the hope that she may talk to him, or even touch his arm for a second.

"With that out of the way, I guess we can be together, then." She moved over to sit in front of him again. He tensed up.

"No." He was firm about it, no need to get attached before he found another moment to kill himself.

"Now you're just being immature." She wanted him to see the wonders the world still held, but if he shut his eyes it would be hard.

"There's a million other guys out there who would be overjoyed to date you. Just look at Lee." He gestured towards their still unconscious friend.

"Not a million. I'm getting tired if this love triangle, call me when you've made up your mind." She stood up, brushing her hand over his hair on purpose and took a couple of steps away.

"It's more of a square," he mused. The small pop shattered the silence for a second and she was gone again.

The straps of fabric he had so carefully knotted together was just some ash on the floor and he didn't have anything else. Instead of looking for a rope he went out in the kitchen and got a glass of water that he emptied over the black braids, waking the other. He groaned and opened his lids slowly, the sun blinding him for an instant.

"Can you leave now?" It wasn't a question, more a warning.

"No, I'm not giving up on you," he retorted stubbornly.

"Leave, before I make you." The threat was hollow, but Lee got up, shaking.

"I'll drop by tomorrow," he said before picking up the grocery bag again. George seemed calmer now, still he was distressed as he apparated to Adéle's flat.

**AN: Sorry if this puts Fred in a kinda bad light, but it's how they perceived him, not necessary how he felt.  
Is it as bad as I fear? Worse? Not too bad? I would love to hear your thoughts about it. **


	4. One year

**AN: Finally churned out something here, too. Didn't really go the way I had planned at first, but I'm pleased enough. Probably lots of mistakes, but I can't stand to fix it anymore! And as alway, all you recognise belongs to JKR, who is not me.**

One year

"Angie, come here!" George called into the supply room from behind the register. His girlfriend emerged with a crease in her brows. "This lovely lady was asking about the new WonderWitch products." He gestured towards the young brunette on the other side of the counter, who blushed a bit. As Angelina took care of the customer, George ventured out in the shop, holding an eye on a suspicious-looking man a bit older than him.

"Hi mister, can you hand me that?" A small boy asked him and pointed at a box of Canary Creams on the top shelf. George nodded and stretched his hands up only to discover he wouldn't reach it even if he jumped.

"I need one tall, lanky git over here," he shouted out in the room, causing several girls to cringe and an elderly couple to leave. He just grinned at them until his youngest and also tallest brother came. "Since you put those up there, you can now take them down," he commanded to the amusement of the small boy.

"Whatever you say," Ron muttered and took the boxes down, George took the topmost out of his arms, handed it to the boy and headed for the register again, leaving Ron looking puzzled. The youngest Weasley-brother sighed, putting a couple of the boxes on a lower shelf before returning the rest on top.

"That's fourteen sickles," Angelina said when the young boy placed the box on the counter. He began digging in his pockets, pulling out some rubbish like gum wrappings before finding money. He laid it all on the polished surface and she counted it, leaning forward a bit so she had to tuck the hair behind her ear. George used the moment to just watch her.

"Shoot, that's all I've got," the boy said after a while of intensive searching.

"It's just eleven sickles, seven knuts," Angelina told him.

"Take it anyway and put it to good use," George said, scooping the coins into his hand and opened the register. The boy's face lighted up at once. George was pleased, it was _that_ day and he was glad to spread some joy instead of...

"Really? Thanks, Mr. Weasley," he said before taking the box under his arm and hurried out the door. George made a grimace of both happiness and disgust.

"When did I become _Mr. Weasley?_ That's my dad, for Merlin's sake. No, worse, it's my grandfather." He leaned against the counter and Angelina put her arms around him.

"Oh, I thinks it suits you, Mr. Weasley," she purred and kissed him. He prolonged it, just holding up a finger to tell whoever entered the shop to wait.

"How would you like to be Mrs. Weasley?" The words were out of his mouth before he had thought them, much less on the consequences.

"Did you just ask me to marry you?" She cocked an eyebrow at him, not sure if it was his idea of a bad joke.

"Yes," he said and grabbed a candy ring, getting down on one knee as fast as possible. "Angelina Johnson, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" What the ruddy hell was he doing? He hadn't planned this! At the same time it felt right and he tried to smile up at her while his heart hammered in his chest. She was sceptical for a long minute before she saw he was serious and her face broke up in a grin.

"Yes, of course," she said with a small laughter and he slid the ring onto her finger, kissing it for a moment.

"Not all gals got an engagement ring with raspberry-taste," he said as he straightened up again. She giggled and he turned to see who had entered the shop earlier.

"Oh, I'm so happy for you," his mother said teary and all colour flooded from George's face. Now she wouldn't leave him alone 'til the wedding was done.

"Congrats," his father said and held out a hand over the counter. George took it, wondering what tight spot he really had got himself into now. It wasn't that he didn't love Angelina, he definitively did, but _marriage?_ Some day, yes, but not yet. If they could have kept the engagement a secret for a while and taken it at their own pace, not get run over by his mother.

"Yeah, well... Mum, can you do me a favour?" He asked in a low voice, playing vulnerable.

"Anything, dear," she answered, slightly concerned.

"Not flip out over this like you did with Bill, I just want a quiet little thing, not all the fuss and people," he said with a glance at Angelina before looking back at his mother.

"Of course, it's your day," she agreed at once. He shot a look at his watch and announced that he had to go upstairs to get something. They nodded and started talking about something else as he left for the flat.

"What's up with him?" He asked less mockingly than usual when seeing Ron laying on the sofa, tears running down his face and Kevin kneeling beside him, hushing reassuringly.

"Rubber-band snapped," she explained, meaning his feelings finally caught up with him and he was having a breakdown. Ron was now the last of the siblings to fall apart and thereby the last to be put back together.

"Oh," George said simply and continued to the bathroom. He opened the medical cabinet and took out four different sorts of pills. The last year hadn't been easy on him and he had first refused any help, giving Charlie a black eye when the question of a therapist had been raised. But unsurprisingly enough he had a breakdown, hitting rock bottom to the extent he lost control of his body. It hadn't started then, but the final drop had been when Angelina accidentally called him Fred one night at the end of January.

His mind and body had flooded with emotions as loss, betrayal and rage he didn't know he had. They had started a real fight, getting slightly physical before he fled to the first safe place he could think of, Charlie's new home in Britain, where he had collapsed mentally. He didn't remember much of the days following that, only that Charlie had got him to a muggle hospital where he spent some time being drugged beside reason in the mental ward.

His family had quickly take action to this and he had lived over a month at the Burrow where a concerned Molly at last had got him to agree with some medications. After that he had been a good boy and taken his pills for the psychosis and schizoaffective disorder he had been diagnosed with.

"Cheers," he said to his reflection as he put the pills in his mouth and washed it down with a glass of water. It had been a year since he had anything other than a mirror to look at, still he could easily difference his own reflection from Fred's face. The problem was the times he didn't want to.

He entered the living-room again to see Ron sitting hunched over on the couch, still sobbed with his hands covering his face. George cleared his throat unconsciously and Ron looked at him, hope forming in his face before his eyes found the hole where an ear should be and the hands went up again.

"Shh, it's okay," Kevin repeated in a low voice and rubbed his back in circles. She made eye-contact with George, who understood he had to sit down too. He placed his arm around his brother's shoulders, not saying anything as he really didn't know what. It was no words to make the pain ease, he knew that better than anyone, but maybe the touch was enough.

He too kept his head down and soon noticed his own birthday present for himself this year. It was a tattoo a little under the inside of his elbow, an ambigram reading 'life' out to the world and 'death' towards him. Half his family thought it had been a stupid decision, the rest didn't understood why he had to do it the painful, muggle way. Still, it didn't matter, it was his body, his pain.

**AN: Yeah, I didn't plan the proposal any more than he did, it just happened! Cute, though.  
I have one more to write before the end comes, so... Yeah. And I'm sorry for the total overflow of Charlie and Kevin, but it kinda lines up with something else I'm writing and, um... The Short Weasley Club look after each other ;)**


	5. Half a dozen

**AN: Kind of a repairment of the last chapter going so different that I had planned when starting this and I have to put in this scene somewhere. Written fast and bad, not sure I'll let it be like this forever. Takes place in 2004, six years after the war ended, thereby the name.**

Half a dozen

George stood in the living-room of the Burrow, a room holding painfully jolly memories to him. The entire family was gathered, with spouses and kids, the whole package. Ginny was about three months pregnant, a small bulge visible on her yellow dress, while Fleur was six months along for the second time. Bill sat on the floor, playing with Victoire and the new doll she had got for her birthday. George thanked Godric he and Angie hadn't gotten that far yet and sailed on the newlywed-wave even though it was over ten months since the wedding.

"Honey?" Angelina thrust her black handbag into his hands and he looked dumbly at.

"Do I really have to hold your purse now?" He groaned, being familiar with this from boring shopping-rounds.

"Your pills," she explained.

"Take them in a minute," he brushed it off with and deposited the bag on the floor.

"If anyone's hungry, dinner is ready," his mother called from the kitchen and everyone began moving from the couches and chairs, Ron and Charlie more or less ran. Soon they were all seated by the table, but the food took longer time to make its way there.

"We want food, we want food," Charlie began chanting while thumping his fists to the old table, George and Ron joined to the amusement of little Victoire. Molly hurried and the stew-pot soared onto the table before she sat down with a smile on her lips.

"So, dig in," she announced and her sons obeyed easily. "Sorry dear, here you go," she added when seeing Bill look around for his steak and it too soared from the counter, landing neatly in front of him.

"Why Daddy get that?" Victoire asked with her mouth full of stew and looked over at her father's plate.

"Because your grandma still babies him, even though he's _thirty-three_," George answered, also with his mouth full of food.

"Is that all you got, that I'm older than you?" Bill challenged him while cutting up aforementioned steak.

"No, I could say you're too tall, thick-headed, your hair resembles a crow's nest and you're cross-eyed." George grinned at him and Bill tried not to stick his tongue out, but in the end couldn't resist.

"At least I'm not as tall as Ron," he settled on and shot a look over at his youngest brother who had pushed seven feet before he was eighteen.

"I'f no' mah faul'," he told them, spraying his wife in half-chewed food.

"Slick," Ginny commented from across the table while Hermione wiped the mess off her shirt, Ron made a feeble attempt at helping, but since a lot of it was on her breasts he let it be.

"Why isn't Kevin here?" Percy asked Charlie, now scooping up a second helping.

"Wasn't feeling too well," Charlie answered and looked at his spoon.

"I hope it isn't anything serious," Molly said.

"Yes, I 'ave barely seen 'er for years," Fleur shot in, interlacing her fingers over her pregnant belly.

"No, nothing serious," Charlie said and began eating again, slower.

"Honestly," George said and looked at his watch. "Aren't they done soon?"

"Who?" Angelina asked him, a bit apprehensive.

"Fred and Verity," he said and looked around at the anxious faces. "They went upstairs an hour ago, should be done... Reproducing now."

"George, honey..." Angelina patted his arm carefully. "Did you take your pills?" She asked tenderly, trying to avoid explosion.

"Yeah... No, I' didn't," he admitted, not seeing why that suddenly was important.

"Then maybe you should take them now." Her voice was low and soft.

"I'm eating now," he answered.

"George, I do think you should," his mother told him.

"Yes, after I'm done eating." Was it so damn hard to get that he wanted to eat first? He was apparently the only twin with brains to get some nutrition. Angelina stood up and fetched her purse, taking out the white plastic-jars and setting them between the plates.

"Pills there, water there, no excuse," Angelina said stern, seeing that may be more of a success.

"Food here," he argued and took another spoonful.

"George, take them before we make you," Charlie said. George kept eating, pretending he hadn't heard.

"Fine. Fleur, take Vicky with you out in the garden," Bill said and put down his knife and fork. Fleur took her daughter by the hand, Angelina, Molly and Arthur, Ginny, Hermione and Audrey followed, not keen on watching what could be a real fight.

"Last chance," Charlie warned him, having stood up.

"Bloody hell, I just want to finish my food first and wait for Fred to come down from shagging our employee senseless," he said, throwing down his spoon and got to his own feet. He was a couple of inches taller than Charlie, but had nothing on his muscles, still they stared at each other for a full minute.

"How hard is it, just swallow a couple of pills," Ron said, having picked up one of the jars.

"These aren't even big," Harry commented, peeking into the small container.

"Then why don't you do it!" George shouted, fed up with everyone commanding him around. "Why don't you eat pills 'til they pop out of your ears!" He strode over to Ron and Harry, fixing his eyes on the jar like he hoped to make it catch fire.

"That's enough," Bill said, placing a hand on George's shoulder, not expecting his brother to turn on him, first giving him a bloody nose, continuing with punching every square-inch he could reach soar. In the surprise it took a moment before Charlie and Ron got behind him, twisting his arms behind his back as he roared in blind rage.

"Calm down!" Charlie roared back, twisting his right arm further up.

"This is exactly why you should take these," Bill said as he picked up the jars from the floor, uncapping one and took up a small, white capsule. George stopped fighting so hard, panting as he watched his oldest brothers hand with the medications in the palm. "Open up." Bill wrenched his lips apart, pushing the pills in. George wasn't particularly happy about this and spat it right out again.

"George, come on," Ron groaned, still holding his brother firmly. Bill tried with a new load of pills, only causing George to twist his head away, always avoiding the medications. A rough fist grabbed the hair on top of his head, jerking it back and he yelped in pain. The pills fell down to the back of his mouth and he couldn't help but swallow.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Bill said as Charlie let go of the red mop, a small tuft coming off with his hand. After a couple of minutes George was still breathing heavy, still trapped by his brothers, but his body began to relax, his eyes blinking slowly and he felt something hot run down the inside of his leg. "And you just pissed yourself," Bill noted airy. George didn't care about it, or that they were letting go of his arms.

"I'm sorry, but it was for your own good," Charlie told him, but he didn't respond, just stared out in the air. A calm washed through his body and mind, nothing else mattered.

"Maybe we should get him to lay down?" Ron said and looked from Bill to Charlie. George moved at last, sitting down beside Harry and leaned heavy on his brother-in-law, closing his eyes. No one said anything, but several tears escaped, they had thought George was doing fine.

**AN: Yeah, I kicked out Kevin, but mentioning her worked as a nice filler. Have two more chapters to this, one I haven't written yet, so it may take some time. Reviews are alway welcomed, even if you say it suck, I can take critic.**


	6. One decade

One decade

The inhabitants of Diagon Alley had long ago got used to the show of fireworks on the second of May. Some charmed the walls of their house to keep the sound out and the sleep in, other used the occasion to watch and remember.

Three figures were visible on the roof-top of number ninety-three, two men and one woman. The redheaded man was just shooting off a new load of fireworks and lighted a cigarette as the sky was illuminated.

"Those'll kill you," Katie Bell told him where she was placed on his right side, knees drawn up to her chest.

"Watch me care," George retorted dryly and blew a ring. It wasn't often he smoked, just two or three days a year and that was really enough for him.

"This is mad," Oliver said quietly from George's other side and glanced over at his former team-mates.

"What?" George asked. "Three adults sitting on the roof and talking?" He sent up a spinning orange wheel, the light setting Katie's scars sharp in her face. "The world's mad."

"Me and Catherine did this sometimes," Oliver whispered. Less than a year ago he had lost the love of his life to one of the last Death Eaters, just down there on the street.

"I'm sorry," Katie said. She hadn't lost anyone close in the war or the years after, like the men. The only she had to deal with was every day looking in the mirror and see the savage marks Greyback had left on her during the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Sixteenth birthday." George didn't want and didn't need to say anything more. One of his companions had been present to see both Filch face and hear Molly's howler after the twins toilet-papered three of the towers at the school, the other had heard of it several times.

"I still can't believe it," Oliver said, deep in his own thoughts.

"It's not a matter of believing, it just is," George said, reminding himself of his oldest brother.

"She just is..." Silent tears were trickling down the quidditch-player's cheeks.

"And he..." It had been ten awful years for George, but he was just pulling through. His son and daughter had all the life he once had - they once had – and he hurt when seeing them setting up small pranks on their mother. For a boy of just four Ricky understood his father was ill and not the kind of chest-cold-ill. The kind that sits in the heart, mind and brain, the kind you can't get rid of.

"Here." Katie passed a bottle of Fire-Whiskey to George and he took a big gulp before sending it to Oliver.

"Getting drunk, that'll do me a lot of good." Oliver put the bottle to his lips and let the alcohol burn some of his pain away. They sat in silence for a long time until George sent up a new show in purple and gold.

"George?" A dark head peeked up from the trapdoor and the trio turned to Angelina. "Are you done soon?" She knew her husband needed it, but they had been sitting there for well over four hours.

"Getting boring alone?" George retorted.

"Getting lonely in the big bed all by myself," she said teasingly. George shook his head with a smile.

"Maybe we should get home," Katie said and looked slowly around at them all. After a minute George began moving towards his wife and she got out of the way to let him come down. He let himself fall a couple of inches before his feet made contact with the chair. He stood there for a moment before pushing the memory away and Oliver came down after him. When Katie stood on the chair Oliver absentmindedly lifter her down and got a small thanks.

"We'll just take the Floo," Oliver said and looked down at his feet, the last he wanted now was his friends having to go down to the ground floor just to let them out.

"Well, it was nice having you here," Angelina said, even though she had hardly seen them.

"It was nice being here," Katie said and gave her friend a quick hug.

"Yeah, was nice," Oliver muttered and George clasped his arm for the shortest moment in a friendly gesture.

"See you around, then," Katie said and walked over to the fireplace. Oliver followed slowly. "Where are you going, by the way?" She added as she took a handful of powder.

"Home, to my flat," Oliver said quietly. The flat intended for a married couple and their cat. Now he was always alone there as he in shear grief and desperation had drowned the cat in the bathtub around Christmas. He didn't even manage to feel sorry for it.

"Wouldn't want to come over to me for a cup of tea?" Katie's brows furrowed, Oliver looked close to suicidal and she didn't like the thought of him alone, depressed and intoxicated in the middle of the night.

"Why not..." Oliver moved his gaze to her knees, it was far from looking her in the eyes, but better than nothing. They flooed together and the living-room fell quiet for a long minute.

"Hello, my angel," George said at last and kissed his wife.

"Hello, your Holeyness," she retorted when they broke apart and they were left to stare into each other's eyes, his fingers under her chin, her arms around his waist.

"Bed?" he asked and moved his hand down to the collar of her blue bathrobe where it clasped around the fabric by itself.

"You have to brush your teeth first," she said, having tasted the drink on his lips. He moved the clutching hand out a bit and she carefully wrenched the fingers off. He knew why his body was rebelling on him, he had been up for almost twenty hours.

"You do it?" he murmured and she nodded before they moved into the bathroom and she picked up his toothbrush. He sat down on the toilet-lid and let her help him.

When they were in bed he leaned over and kissed her temple. She turned to face him and placed a leg over his hips as their eyes locked again.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you, Angie, and I love Rick and Roxy, so very much." _But I may have to do something terrible to you in the future._

"I know," she whispered back. "And we love you too." He moved closer to place an arm around her and sighed before closing his eyes. She kissed his nose before trying to get to sleep.

--

"Frederick Septimus Weasley!" George roared at precisely noon the next day. "You better have one very good card up your sleeve!" His work-area was destroyed, total and utterly destroyed! There was shattered pots and glass bowls, potion ingredients and highly explosive gunpowder littering the floor, bench and chair together with various liquids.

"Dad, I was just – it didn't – it was Roxy!" his son stuttered and pointed to his two year younger sister.

"That's the oldest trick in the book and your talking to the writer of said book." George sighed and knelt down in front of Roxanne. "Hey pumpkin, wanna tell your Daddy what really happened? You won't have to clean up." George thought his children had been in too much contact with his supplies already.

"Na-ha." Roxanne shook her head, making her dark copper curls fly and stuck a finger in between grinning teeth. George gently pulled it back out, she had probably touched something.

"I'm thinking of a number between one and ten," George said all of a sudden.

"Seven!" Rick shouted at once.

"Two?" Roxy tried as a grin spread over their father's face.

"Deal, Ricky-boy gets grounded for seven weeks, Roxy-pumpkin gets two!"

"That's not fair!" Rick stomped his foot and flung out an angry fist, knocking another bowl to the floor. Black smoke was immediately being emitted from the puddle it landed in and the three family members started coughing.

"Okay, get out of here," George said between gasps and grabbed after his son with his free hand. His eyes watered and the air smelled of burning tyres, but before they could reach the door, the smoke cleared. A tall man, dressed in dark robes and with brown hair going grey stood in the middle of the room, dusting off his arms. "Merlin too!"

"That is right, young sire," the man told him and George stood up properly, letting go of Roxanne's hand and she hid behind him instead.

"Excuse me?" George was confused and a bit annoyed about the stranger in his house.

"Excuse you for what?" The man inquired with a curious look.

"Who the hell are you?" George shouted and was glad Angelina was at the grocery store, she would turn him inside out for swearing in front of the children.

"As you quite correctly said, I am the wizard Merlin," the man said.

"How?" George's voice was getting shrill and he hastily had to think back, he had remembered his pills today, hadn't he? Yes, he definitively had. "Is this some kind of joke?" He didn't know who could have put it up, but whoever it was would get to deal with him.

"No, I assure you my presence is no joke," Merlin answered. "To your other question, I do believe this young mister and miss made a little magical miracle today. Unaware of the result, they conjured me back using a tiny fragment of my long lost remaining."

"Remaining? You mean, like... Your body?" George's mouth fell open, his children had brought back a man dead for hundreds of years.

"Precisely! I'm not aware of the exact ingredients and measuring, but they did conjure up the right remedy." As the wizard spoke, his frame was getting more transparent. "It is a real treat, but they do seem to have made a bit of a mess. I'd be happy to help with the cleaning before I get on my way." He now resembled a ghost. "Thus, great discoveries are rarely clean, both physically and ethically..." He was soon gone, the words just the whispering of a wind. George stood rooted to the spot.

"Daddy?" Roxanne tugged at his shirt.

"Dad?" Rick said louder. "George!" It was strange to call his father by the name at such a young age, but it was usually what carried through.

"Huh?" George looked down at the worried faces. "I just have to lay down. Don't touch anything." He scuffled out in the living-room and fell over on the couch, his mind working frantically. The children followed after him and Rick closed the door.

"I'll get a pillow for you," his son said matter-of-factly and hurried into their parents' bedroom. Roxanne tried pulling the blanket hanging over the arm-rest over her father, but it was heavy and her brother helped her when he got back.

"Is Mommy back soon?" Roxanne asked and looked up at the boy.

"I hope so," Rick answered quietly and took hold of her hand. "Come." They disappeared into their bedroom and George thought faintly his children shouldn't have to care for him, at least not yet.

--

The first thing Angelina realised when stepping into the flat was how unusual quiet it was. The second was the smell. Her husband was sick again. She put the bags on the kitchen counter before stepping over to the couch where George was laying, seemingly asleep.

"Honey?" She knelt down and stroke a hand over his forehead. He slowly opened his eyes, but couldn't focus fully on her. "How are you?"

"Not too bad." He sounded too young and she kept herself from sighing, it was the same nearly every time. "I had a tummy-ache, but it's gone now." He moved a little and realised the reason his stomach was better was that he had soiled himself.

"It's okay," she murmured and leaned down to kiss his hair. He let out a heavy breath and took hold of her hand.

"I'm still sorry," he muttered, things like this shouldn't happen anymore.

"We'll clean you up and you can take your pills, all will be fine," she told him and tried smiling. He returned the weak gesture.

--

This had to work, it just had to, or he didn't know what he would do. However messy his children had made the discovery, it was a grand discovery. As he had laid on the sofa he had thought out the plan carefully in his almost-conscious state. It had filled him with hope, it was a way!

He let go of the shovel with one hand to wipe his brow for a moment. He had to do it the hard way, the right way, they deserved it. He gazed over the clearing and sniffed in the cool night air.

The family graveyard wasn't big, just five headstones. His uncles Gideon and Fabian rested on the other side, the plain marble reflecting what little moonlight it was. On the outskirts was the rough marking of a girl names Amy, the daughter of a family friend and George couldn't remember who, just that she had died as an infant. It didn't matter.

His father. An accident in Diagon Alley and his mother was suddenly a widow. Same happening that had taken Catherine from Oliver.

And then there was Fred. George swallowed hard and looked down on the earth he was digging. Just a feet or so underneath his twin laid. What he was doing was utterly bizarre and sick, but he had to. Had to try!

He didn't rest any more before he had brushed the dirt off the lid. He sniffed again. Summoning his courage he wrenched it open and let the stars bath them.

It wasn't a pretty sight. The skin was as dark as the earth around them, fragile spinning over the dried tissue and bones. The hair still had a clear tint of red. The arms laid down at the side, a way George had never seen his twin in living life. The suit still laid smooth, even if holes were forming due to bugs. The eyes had sunk deep under the lids and the lips had twisted back, baring the dry teeth.

It was still Fred. It would be Fred again.

George got up and pulled the bucket he had brought towards himself and took off the lid. He reached down in the pocket of his jeans and retracted the phial with the final ingredient. A knot formed in his abdomen and he hoped he had got it right as he unstopped it.

He hastily dumped the content down in the liquid. The smoking began and George hurried to spill it over Fred's body. It swam on the surface for a good while before soaking through.

It had to work, it was going to work. George watched, biting his lip so hard he drew blood.

"Come on, come on," he hummed low and tuneless. The smoke almost cleared before it took to fizz and a dark cloud welled up. George narrowed his eyes, but didn't close them and didn't cough. He waited, any second he would hear the voice. Any minute Fred would come back to life.

The smoke cleared and George got down on his knees, bending over the body. This wasn't right, why hadn't anything happened? He looked around wildly for a moment, expecting to see his twin stand somewhere, anywhere!

"Fred?" His voice was shaking and he prodded the fabric with his finger.. "Fred!" It was a desperate wail. It hadn't work, for some bloody fucking reason his brother's body still laid there, dead. "Fred," he murmured at last and gripped to cradle the soaked torso to his own. George was still alone. He opened his teary eyes for a moment to see the head still laying in place. Of course, the neck had broken off.

George was more lost than ever as he sat there, rocking, burning white-hot with fresh grief. It was no way to get Fred back and he, George, would go on hurting. A light drizzle settled in the air as George let his tears run, he would never make it stop.

--

"Oh, goodness," Ron's voice carried over the clearing hours later when seeing the open grave and the hunched over figure in it. Dawn had come and passed, but George still holding Fred close, the rocking having shifted to shivers. The youngest brother took a couple of steps closer with their sister before he could take in the real horror of the scene and his stomach turned.

"George," Ginny said softly, but he didn't stir.

"What have he done?" Ron said, almost out of his mind, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. The shovel and forms in front of them made parts of it obvious. But why? What made George do such a horrendous thing?

"George, come here," Ginny said a bit louder and touched his shoulder. He refused to let them interfere. "George, you have to come." She was more stern and hoped she wouldn't have to wrench the corpse from her brother's fingers.

"No," George whispered. "No."

"George, come, please. Sleep a bit, relax, it'll be okay," Ron said. "I'd even knock you out for a day or two if it just makes you come up from there."

"You know you can't sit there," Ginny said and gripped George's shoulder harder. "Come back with us."

"No," George mouthed, but his hold was slipping. He was loosing Fred, loosing himself and had lost all reason long ago. Soon the body of his twin was laying, not properly down in the casket, but at least not in his arms.

"There, George," Ginny murmured and helped him up on ground-level. She tried not touching his clothes, they were too stained and dirty with things she tried not thinking about. "Can you clean up here?" she added to Ron, who nodded, trying to keep the bile down for now.

George let her put an arm around his back. His mind had stopped working, he was just aware that he was still alone, had no Fred. And what was a George without a Fred? Just an empty shell. He took small steps when Ginny started directing him down the forest path, but he didn't see where they were heading. And what did it matter?

--

He woke the next morning sore and stiff in most muscles and groaned as he turned in the bed. It was wet. Wasn't the first time that had happened. His recalling of the last night was hazy, but he knew he had failed.

"Are you awake?" a soft voice asked. He opened his eyes enough to see his mother's face looking concerned at him. He closed them again and she slid her arm under his neck to hold him close. Of all the things she thought he could have done, she had never expected to see her son the way Ginny brought him in early that morning. The grime had covered his entire shirt and some of his face. Luckily they had gotten him cleaned and to bed before he collapsed totally.

"Mum," he muttered. "Sorry."

"For what, dear?" She pulled him closer, but he just laid there, thankful for the small gesture. "I don't blame you." At these words he turned to face her and hid his face in her night-gown, not to cry, just to pretend no one could judge him.

**AN: Realised I had messed up the age with the kids, but should be fixed now.**


	7. The end

**AN: Shouldn't be much surprise what happens here. I do not own the song Om morgendagen aldri kommer, the norwegian band Picazzo do, I just did a translation.**

The end

George took his seat with his wife and two children. It was a right cluster on the Hogwarts grounds with students, teachers and civilians who had met up for the twentieth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. They were seated on the third of what must be hundreds of rows of wooden chair.

George felt uncomfortable in his suit, it was a warm and sunny day, and he saw his son tugging at his own tie. As Angelina shot a glance at the boy, George covered her hand with his as a distraction. It worked, she gave him a smile not fully covering her sadness. He returned it weakly as the people around them fell quiet, the only thing he heard was Fleur's soft sniffing beside him and he wished she could stop that too.

Harry stepped up on the dais in front of Dumbledore's tomb and the lake, every eye landed on him as he cleared his throat and leaned closer to the microphone. "We're here today," he began slowly. "To honour and remember the fallen in the second Wizard War. Many of you here today wasn't born, but I still ask you to take this time to contemplate the sacrifices made so you can grow up in a safe world. To those of us who do remember... The sacrifices wasn't in vain." A somber atmosphere had laid it's hands over the masses, no one dared as much as blink too loud. "First, Dominique Weasley will..." He seemed lost for words. "Here's Dominique Weasley," he said flatly and scuffled off the stage to be replaced by a fourteen year old girl with long blonde hair with a red tint.

"Hello. I wanted to honour the ones lost and the ones left. This I will do with a song," she announced and George heard she was nervous. He understood her, it had to be over a thousand people present. "I got help with translating it by my aunt Kay, so... I choose it because it capture the feelings left after the war and..." She didn't find any more words, but motioned for the music to start as she took the mic in her hand. Angelina stroke her thumb over her husbands hand and he returned it with a soft squeeze. The melody was soft and slow and the girl drew her breath to begin singing.

"_I'm sitting here alone,_

_So meditative,_

_An no one know how well what that means,_

_To miss the one to love and admire,_

_Again the painful truth,_

_I hope we never learn the answer,_

_Change can come so all too soon,_

_And tomorrow's plans crumbles,_

_In a fight where nothing makes sense."_

George got startled by how the words hit his heart like a spear. A single tear ran down his freckled cheek, but he didn't wipe it away. He would have sworn the breeze ruffling his fringe actually was a pale hand where he felt the fingers to his forehead.

"_And if tomorrow never comes,_

_And I quietly pass away,_

_What memories will you keep,_

_What do you remember me for,_

_In the future,_

_What images will be left,_

_And cause you joy or tears,_

_If life could be so cruel,_

_And tomorrow never comes."_

It become too much, the words ripped him apart. The pain laid like a thick fog on his body when he stood up and brushed past Fleur and Bill, half-running towards the castle. No attempt was made at stopping him, they just glanced back until he entered the castle.

He could still hear the music, just barely and was glad the words wasn't able to make out. The wall was cold to his back and he took several deep breath. He had to do it now. It wasn't like he hadn't planned it, he had just not got as far as the exact time. He began climbing the stairs, holding his head down in case a ghost or portrait made contact. His feet knew the way and he soon looked at _that_ wall. It was visibly rebuilt, some of the stones much smoother than the centuries-old originals.

He sat down against it, more or less on the spot his twin had died two decades earlier. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could feel it. An invisible fist to his arm. A soft slap to the hole in his head. Yeah, it was all still a joke to Fred. Two identical grins formed, it was time.

George had to open his trousers to get out the knife and sheet of paper he had strapped to his thigh. When he was properly clothed again, he stared at the blade for a while, it was his beloved wife's best steak knife, always kept at its sharpest. The note had to be unfolded, revealing his attempt at making his writing legible for once. It wasn't too bad and he placed it on the floor a couple of feet away.

He took of his blue tie and hurled it further away, even though it had been a birthday present from his daughter, he could barely stand having anything around his neck. Regretting the action, he accioed it back and placed it beside the note. He opened the two top buttons of his shirt, the shadow of a laughter gliding through the air.

As he gripped the handle of the knife again, he recalled some of the last words he and Fred had shared.

"This is mental, watch your back for Godric's sake!" Fred had shouted at him over his shoulder.

"I'm a little busy making sure someone doesn't curse _your _arse off," he had retorted and sent a hooded figure flying.

"Well, Mum would murder me if I let you die, so _watch out!_" The last was shouted as they both had ducked a curse and ran down a littered corridor.

"Fine, you watch my arse, I watch yours and Mum murders us both," George had concluded as he fled doubled over from a flock of Death Eaters. They had paused for a moment behind a gargoyle before Fred continued, George soon after.

Now George sat alone against the once-collapsed wall. It was time, he had tried life without Fred too long and a reunion was much overdue. His hand didn't even shake.

The speeches was done, the handkerchiefs cried in and the sun had began setting. The Weasley clan had gathered in the middle of the grounds, the youngest children running off some energy.

"Where's Uncle George?" Louis asked his father, who furrowed his brows before shaking his head.

"Dunno. Anyone seen George?" he asked louder. No one had and a subtle worry grew between the adults.

"Maybe he's eating," Ron suggested, knowing it was a slim change for seeing his brother among the students in the Great Hall.

"The kitchens in that case," Charlie corrected him. "I'll go check." He began striding towards the castle with a knot of worry in his stomach.

"What about the common room?" Ginny said, shifting her feet nervously. They all knew what could have happened, but tried keeping their spirits up. George was considered all better, as long as he had his pills.

"How would he get in?" Hermione asked mostly to contribute with something.

"We're talking about George here, he'll find a way," Bill said. "I think we should fan out to find him as quickly as possible."

They all agreed, the only left was Molly to watch over the kids. She wanted to help too, but couldn't bear the scene they may discover.

None of them found him, instead a poor 4th year Ravenclaw-girl passed him and fired off a series of screams causing Angelina, Kevin and Audrey to come running.

"Aw, did he have to do it so messy?" Kevin said as she looked down on George, knife in one hand, the other palm turned towards the ceiling as an offering of peace. And the blood.

The blood that had cascaded from his slit throat and over his shirt. Sending him out of this world when there was no more to be pumped through his body. She knelt down and closed his eyelids with shaking fingers.

Angelina was rooted to the floor as her eyes travelled over the man she loved, the father of her children and at last she saw the letter he had left. She picked it up and the two other women huddled around her to read.

"_Dear everyone!_

_You see what I have done. I didn't have a choice, not in the end. Almost poetical, isn't it? The place and time, I mean._

_Angelina, I'm sorry to do this to you and the kids. I understand that you are angry and think I don't love you. But I do, you're the sole reason I kept going all these years. Please don't hate me._

_To use a cliché, I'm in a better place now._

_To the family: same applies to you, don't hate me and don't cry your eyes out too long, it won't bring us back. I want to be remembered, not mourned._

_The first twenty years of my life, it was always our life, mine and Fred's. We devoted it to put smiles on others and have a good time. The last twenty years haven't been like that, something obvious have been missing. Now we're together again._

_And the boring stuff about the fun: thirty percent of the shop's ownership falls to my amazing Angie, another thirty percent to Ronnie-kins, who surprisingly got a knack for business, ten percent goes to each of my wonderful children and the last twenty to my dear mother. (Sorry we were such brats growing up, I never got a chance to apologising before.) Feel free to do whatever the heck you want with your share, but I hope Mum will cash in on the money._

_I'll say hi from all of you, see you in a long, LONG time._

_George."_

Angelina's tears hit and obscured some of the words a bit. Audrey had put her arm around her, but no one said anything as she lowered the letter again and looked at her husband. He was still beautiful in her eyes, even though his face was ashen and his limbs stiff. As she took in his features for the last time someone walked up behind them.

"No..." Bill said quietly, a small relief spreading in his chest, his brother could finally rest. The rest of the siblings with their spouses joined slowly, as if drawn there by an invisible force. For a long time they all stared at the body, several holding around each other, but no one spoke. Not even when the faintest echo of two laughters soared through the air.


	8. A new beginning

**AN: After a long wait I've finally completed the last chapter of this. Hope you enjoy.**

George was laying on his back. As he opened his eyes he stared up on a clear blue sky. He moved his hands and found he was laying on soft grass.

He sat up slowly and touched his throat. It was whole and the skin felt smoother. Younger.

Where was he? There was a hill sloping down to a village a mile or so in front of him. As he turned his head he saw a blossom cherry-tree. He took a deep breath of the fresh air and scratched his head, he didn't recognise any of this.

The pink flowers of the tree was just starting to fade and the gentle wind took hold and sent a blizzard of petals towards him, but they lifted and he followed them with his eyes as they headed for a small forest on his other side.

Someone was running towards him. He had to squint his eyes to be sure, but the man had just as red hair as himself. He sat still and waited, maybe he could get some answers.

As the other man came closer, George's mouth fell open. He knew that way of running. He knew that was of brushing the hair away when the breeze ruffled it in front of the eyes. It couldn't be!

As the man came close enough to see the freckled face George gave a sound somewhere between a moan and a wail.

When he got close enough the heavy body flung itself at George and he was pushed over on his back. He couldn't react, his mind was too numb with shock.

"George," was whispered in his ear and the sound caused him to grip around the muscular back and hold on for dear life. "I've missed you like crazy!"

"Fred," he mouthed, but no sound came, only tears. He felt his twin trying to sit up, but held him back.

"You're here," Fred said and brushed a hand over the side of George's head. "And so is your ear." He chuckled before spreading his legs over George's lap and pulled his twin up in a sitting-position.

"I've missed you," George sobbed into Fred's chest. He never thought he would hold his living twin close again and doing it made his heart want to do a somersault. Fred held around him, hushing into his ear as a few tears escaped his own eyes, he hadn't expected it to be so good to hug around his twin brother.

"I've missed you so much this week," Fred said at last. George looked up at his with red and swollen eyes.

"Week? It's been twenty fucking years!" he shouted and Fred almost let go of him.

"For you it have, for me it's only been seven days. I'm sorry," Fred said as George dug his fingers into his back.

"Why? Twenty horrible years! That's like, a thousand weeks!" George placed his cheek to Fred's chest and almost squeezed the breath out of him.

"Actually it's a thousand and forty," Fred told him. "Time's different here, I'm sorry. Sorry for leaving you." Fred sniffed and combed his hand up the back of George's head.

"I'm sorry for not coming sooner, but they wouldn't let me," George said, sounding young and bitter at the same time.

"You tried many times?" Fred understood their family had done what they thought was best for George and was thankful for it, even if it had kept them apart for a longer time.

"Too many to count. I've missed you." George couldn't put into words how lost he had felt without his other half and a new wave of tears took hold of him. "It was on the twentieth anniversary of... Bill's daughter sang this song and I just... I love you," he choked out.

"On the risk of sounding gay, I love you too," Fred said and pressed a kiss to George's forehead. They sat like that until George had regained some control. "Bill have a daughter?"

"Yeah, two, but that not important now. How are you? And where are we?" George lifted his head and stared into Fred's eyes.

"I'm great now I have you and... We're in Nangijala of course." Fred smiled down on George's baffled face.

"So she was right," George said slowly.

"There is something different about you, though... New aftershave?" Fred joked.

"I'm old, you snot-rag," George said annoyed.

"Nope," Fred answered. "Don't look old to me."

"What? Aren't people supposed to look... You look twenty," George said.

"Strange, considering that's what I am," Fred retorted. "We'll have to ask Amy, maybe she knows something."

"Who's Amy?" George asked, even though he wasn't sure he could take in any more information now.

"She works at the pub, nice gal." Fred grinned down on him.

"You're keen on her." George shook his head in amusement.

"She's nice. What about you, did you marry or what?" Fred could bare contain himself, he wanted to know everything his twin had been up to without him.

"Angelina," George answered and looked down.

"Good job," Fred said and lifted George's chin. "Any brats?"

"Two, Roxanne, she's almost eleven and..." George blushed and closed his eyes as he whispered, "and Frederick, he's thirteen."

"You named your kid after me?" Fred pulled him into a tight hug. "That's great!"

"Well, I had to," George muttered and sniffed.

"Wanna go down to the village? Get a glass of something? I think you could use it," Fred said with a glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, my balls are kinda in a squeeze here," George agreed with a shaking snicker.

"Atta boy," Fred said and got off his twin's lap, pulling him to his feet afterwards and got a new hug.

"If you ever leave me again, I'll kill you," George whispered before letting go and knew he sounded needy.

"Right back at you," Fred answered and promptly lifted George into his arms.

"I think I can walk for myself," George said with a smile.

"No, I want to do this," Fred insisted and staggered a few steps forward before falling to his knees and dropped his brother.

"Want to do that?" George chuckled.

"Fine, you can walk yourself." Fred mock-sighed before they got to their feet and headed towards the village, a huddle of cottages of varying size.

"I've missed you," George said as the hill began slanting down towards the first houses.

"You've said that," Fred replied and squeezed his hand.

"Get used to hearing it often. Every morning, breakfast, lunch, supper, night, every time you've been out, in the shower, to the loo –"

"Fine, I get it," Fred cut him off with. "I've missed you too."

"Too bad I can't have both you and Angelina at the same time," George said and kicked a stone.

"She'll come," Fred told him. George just nodded, she probably missed him now and he had done something awful to her and their kids, but he couldn't go on like that anymore. "How's the shop doing?"

"Good, better now after Rick and Jimmy started fiddling with some new products. I've kinda had a dry period," George said as the breeze caught his hair.

"Jimmy, that's Harry and Ginny's son, isn't it?" Fred asked and George nodded. "Dad told me."

"Merlin, I forgot he was here too!" George stopped in his tracks.

"Relax, he won't bite your head off," Fred said. "He'd be thrilled to see you."

"How... How long?" George asked.

"Been five days or something, refuses to tell me anything of importance, specially 'bout you," Fred said.

"Thirteen years," George retorted with a shake of his head.

"But I have to tell you one thing that sucks with this place; no magic!"

"What?" George shouted and searched the pockets of his suit for his wand, not finding it. "You're kidding!"

"Wish I was, but I'm getting used to it." Fred shrugged before pushing open the door to the pub. George followed him and when their eyes had adjusted to the dull light they sat down at the bar. "We need a real treat," Fred said and smiled at the barmaid.

"And I need to lay down, I'm seeing double," the girl retorted.

"No, Amy, I want you to meet my twin and partner in crime, George," Fred said with a grin. George shook her hand and saw her eyes was the most peculiar mix of yellow and green while her dark blond hair was pulled up in a messy bun at the back of her head.

"Pleasure to meet you," George said and understood why Fred liked her, she instantly gave out a vibe of good humour.

"Nice to meet you too, I've heard a lot of you," she answered with a smile. George got a puzzled expression, the voice and smile seemed so familiar.

"Amy-girl, we're almost out of –" a broad-shouldered, bronze-haired man came out from a back-room and stopped as he saw both twins by the bar. George didn't even get time to blink before he was pulled into a bear-hug. "Georgie, little Georgie," the man said as he released him again. "I guess you don't remember me, Freddie didn't."

"No, I don't," George admitted breathlessly as he looked into the smiling face.

"I'm your uncle Gideon," he said and hugged both Fred and George. "I haven't seen you since you were wearing nappies."

"Nice to know," George replied.

"I see you have met my daughter, Amy," Gideon said and gestured towards the woman. "Or daughter, well, she came here as an infant and I raised her from she was eight."

"You're much more a father than anyone else," Amy stated while wiping a glass.

"Talking about daughters, I guess Roxanne is as beautiful as her mother?" Fred said with a wink.

"Yeeh, she's... But Victoire's the real beauty of the offspring, and with those parents... We got enough red, frizzy hair to go around," George rambled as Amy sat a glass in front of him. He didn't even taste what it was, just drained it in one gulp.

"Yeah, I've heard. How many kids have they churned out now?" Fred wished he could have been there with the rest of the family, but hearing about them was the next best thing.

"Um, Bill got three, Charlie, well, he keep dragging in strays, Percy two, Ron two and Ginny three," George said as his glass was refilled.

"Charlie's taking in stray children, now? It used to be puppies and kittens," Fred said amused.

"Yeah, but he finally hooked up with Kay, you know and... I think they have four kids living with them now," George explained.

"How cute," Gideon shot in.

"So your Frederick inherited our knack at pranks?" Fred asked and took a sip of his own glass.

"Almost, Rick gets a helping hand from Jimmy-boy," George said. Fred nodded, getting why they used the second half of his nephews name. "I don't know how many times Ginny's come close to murdering them both."

"So she's warped into Mum?" Fred laughed at the thought.

"Not far from." George looked down in his drink. "Did you just happen to be out for a run now or..." He didn't know how to finish and drowned the rest of the sentence in his glass.

"No, I saw your ear was gone from its frame," Fred said and George promptly sprayed drink right in his face.

"What?" George shouted in surprise as Fred attempted wiping off the wet with his hand. Amy handed him the cloth and he took it with a smile.

"I had your ear framed in, hanging above the mantle, macabre as it sounds, completely true," Fred filled him in. "I chanced on you appearing at the same place as me, and I was right."

"This is getting the better of me," George muttered and supported his head in his hand. He had died, got his twin back, his age had halfed, his uncle ran the pub by the looks of it and Angelina was at home mourning him.

"Oh, right, the question," Fred muttered and turned to the girl. "Amy, he feels he's too young, have any ideas why?"

"Feels too young?" The girl cocked an eyebrow at them.

"I was forty when... Before I came here," George said.

"You sure keep in shape for your age," she retorted. "May have something with you being twins and all, but there's also a lot of people who ends up a different age than they were in the other world. The timelines just doesn't remotely add up." She shrugged and Fred leaned closer to her.

"Maybe," George muttered as it dawned on him. His body had lived on, but on so many levels his life had ended when he lost Fred. He absentmindedly clutched his brother's hand on the rough trousers.

"I'm heading out soon, are you going to join me?" Amy asked and leaned on the counter, Fred's eyes travelled to the golden heart just above her cleavage.

"Oh, I don't know," Fred said airy. "Wanna come?" He turned to George, who just raised his eyebrows in a silent question. "Practice bow and arrow."

"Sure, why not?" George answered with a small shrug.

"Because he couldn't hit the ground if he fell," Amy answered with a laughter and Fred's cheeks grew hot as he grinned. "No, actually you're coming along nicely."

"Thanks," Fred said with a small bow.

–

"This'll be grand," Gideon exclaimed when Amy laid the goose down on the counter. "We haven't eaten all those oranges yet, have we?"

"Depends on what Fabian have wolfed down," Amy replied before turning to the twins. "You are gonna have the best dinner on this side of the moon tonight!"

"Oh?" George asked.

"Dad's orange sauce and goose, it's legendary," she told them. "That is, if you're staying for supper."

"Of course we are, I don't think I even have a moldy loaf of bread at home," Fred said and winked at her. She turned faintly pink before picking up the goose again and went to the kitchen.

"So, who shot the golden bird?" Gideon asked.

"I did," George answered. "Didn't know I could do it, but I just followed it with my eyes and let the bow with the arrow follow that again and –"

"Smack, right in the heart," Fred finished. Gideon chuckled and shook his head in a humoured way before picking some spices off the shelf and went to give them to Amy. George suddenly felt shy alone with his twin, there was so much he wanted to ask and tell, but equally much he didn't want Fred to know of his life, even if he deserved to. Their uncle didn't stay long in the kitchen and when he came back, entertained them with short stories of the life and goings in the village.

The dinner was as good as promised, the atmosphere was helped along nicely with drinks, breaking the lasts of awkward barriers there could be and George couldn't think of anything more natural than sitting with his twin, two uncles and foster-cousin in a dimly lit room of the living quarters connected to the pub. Quickly learning how much like himself Fabian was, George spent most of the meal in quick-witted discussions about Quidditch, pranks and punishments caused by this, hardly noticing when Fred very eagerly accompanied Amy to the kitchen to get more potatoes.

"Well, I'm not ready to be a grandfather just yet," Gideon said just loud enough for the two others to hear while shooting a long look towards the kitchen door.

"I'll get them," George said quickly, throwing the napkin down on the table as he pushed back his chair and walked quietly towards the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, distantly hearing his uncles had started talking behind him as he saw his twin in a tight embrace with Amy, caressing her back as he locked her against the counter with his body, her hands tangled in his hair and their lips tightly locked together. George let them continue the snogging session for half a minute before cutting his twin's bliss short with a loud "Oy!"

Amy jumped visibly, but Fred just froze and slowly turned his head to glare at George. He received a small, knowing smirk in return before George turned to go back to the table, happy Fred had found someone for himself, and surprisingly free of jealousy.

–

The drinking hadn't ended when they were done eating, instead they had stayed at the table as they joked into the small hours, Amy's cheeks growing redder and redder as Fred's comments got more and more edgy.

In the end, though, the twins had to return home to their own cottage and they stumbled through the narrow village streets, singing different rude songs between loud giggles and snorts. When Fred stopped to relieve himself against a wall, George collapsed in laughter against the same wall and it took a while before they could proceed.

At last they staggered over the threshold of Fred's humble cottage in each other's arms, wheezing with laughter at some joke not even remotely funny and got the door closed before they both collapsed on the narrow bed, George on top of his brother.

"Good to have you here," Fred tried saying as they calmed down, but it came out as more of a sound between a moan and a sigh. George returned the sound, knowing what his twin meant, before he went limp. Fred was conscious just long enough to hear the soft snores against the side of his neck before he also drifted off into a completely content sleep.

**AN: I could probably kept this chapter going longer, but I think I'll cut it off there with the twins just being completely happy with each other.**


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